


His Favorite Father's Day Yet

by The_Butterfly_Mistress



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family, Father's Day, Gen, Insecure Sherlock, Paternal Lestrade, Supportive John, despicable me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Butterfly_Mistress/pseuds/The_Butterfly_Mistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Father's Day and Sherlock doesn't know what do or what to get for his "Father". What starts off as an awkward phone call turns into a day he'll never forget. Lestrade didn't realize both his kids were going to celebrate with him this year, but he couldn't ask for a better day, even if he wishes Sherlock could control his tongue a bit more. Emily loves both her daddy, and Sherly, and she's going to make sure they both have fun. She'll keep Sherlock in line too! And let's not forget that poor, poor waitress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Favorite Father's Day Yet

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [To the End of the Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/58980) by LastSaskatchewanSpacePirate. 



> A/N: It's finished! Subconscious chapters don't even usually take me this long to complete. This story was inspired by the poem in "To the End of the Stars". I am still working on Subconscious and a Hard Knock Life, so don't fret and don't give up. I know its late, but I hope you enjoy this father's day fic! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, the waitress and Emily are mine. The story is base on a poem in LastSaskatchewanSpacePirate's story "To the End of the Stars"

His Favorite Father’s Day Yet

Sherlock paced the length of the sitting room, agitated footfalls making a chaotic rhythm on the hardwood floors, only interrupted by a step on a rug. John had become annoyed quickly by Sherlock’s strides and chosen to finish his call in the sanctuary of his own room. The young detective took out his mobile and began to press in a number he knew by heart, only to hit the end button before it could ring. _‘Why am I uneasy? It’s not like it matters if he picks up or not, or even if he is interested in hearing from me today. You’ve chased criminals and been injured, threatened…Why is calling him so difficult?’_ One word floated to the forefront of his mind, in his flatmate’s voice. _‘Sentiment.’_

Sherlock heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, “Of course.” Once again, the young man pulled out his mobile and dialed the familiar number, allowing it to ring and receive an answer.

“Sherlock? The voice on the phone asked in concern. Upon receiving no immediate response, the familiar tone transformed into concern, “Are you hurt or in trouble? Where’s, John?”

“No, I’m fine,” he grounded out in annoyance. “John is fine, too; he’s up in his room making a phone call.”

“Then why are you calling? You do realize that you aren’t texting, right?”

“John says that it is customary to call one’s father on said day,” Sherlock stated, as if it explained the unexpected call completely. In a sense, it did.

“Okay…are you calling me to confirm what he’s told you then?”

“No, you Idiot! I’m calling, because you fit all the qualifications of being my father, except through blood,” he asserted, like he states one of his deductions. He could just hear Lestrade’s smile through the phone. He rolled his eyes upon the expected chuckle breaking through the other end.

“I see. Well, in that case, thank you, Sunshine

A silence settled between them. Lestrade, content to let Sherock have the lead, waited patiently; his patience was rewarded after a couple minutes when an awkward Sherlock finally gathered his courage. The DI stifled another laugh as his young detective stumbled over himself in his effort. Lestrade could imagine Sherlock fidgeting as he spoke.

“D-do you have any plans for today?” the socially-inept genius stuttered his askance. The sentence drawn out as each word was considered multiple times, before released for lips to form.

“Theresa is dropping Emily off in a bit. She wants to take me to a movie and dinner,” Greg informed.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Your daughter is six. How can she take you anywhere? The girl can’t even hail or pay a cab, much less drive!” he snipped.

A rough hand rubbed across his hair, nails scratching across scalp. He heaved a heavy sigh, ever long-suffering. “It’s not literal, kid; just her way of telling me how she wants to spend the day celebrating with me.”

“Oh. Well, alright then. I hope you enjo-“

Sherlock is cut off by a slamming door and a child’s shriek of joy. “DADDY!” I’m here!” Little Emily flung herself at her father, small arms wrapping around his neck when he bent down for her.

Lestrade ignored Sherlock’s mumbled “obviously”, and placed the phone between his shoulder and ear to swing his daughter to his hip. His arms encircled her slight form, squeezing her tight with his boundless love. “It’s good to see you too, baby.”

“Who are ya talking to?”

“Your brother decided to wish me a ‘Happy Father’s Day’, too, “Lestrade smirked, very aware that Sherlock was still listening intently.

The waiting inclined his head, face scrunched, perplexed. He knew Emily, he’d been dragged to at least four of her birthday parties and had been proclaimed as the oddest, but coolest present giver. He had also, reluctantly so, assisted in babysitting the girl during Lestrade and Theresa’s separation and divorce. The child seemed to like him okay, and she wasn’t as annoying as most brats. Sherlock found her tolerable, more often than not. She even enjoyed when he played pirate or detective games with her. Her genuine, delighted squeals always melted his heart a touch. John always tried to participate, but the two were so intense in their play that the doctor almost always found himself watching from the sidelines, thoroughly entertained. When they remembered to include him, he was usually a victim of their antics.

However, even though he considered Emily bright and sometimes intriguing, he hadn’t gone out of his way to become particularly close to her. Therefore, Sherlock was unsure as to why Lestrade was referring to him as the child’s sibling. He was going to confuse his daughter, as there were clearly no blood siblings in the picture.

There was a pause, Sherlock assumed she was processing what she was being told. “Sherlock!” she yelled, excited. There was a shuffling and skin smacking against skin. The image of a hyper Emily clapping and flailing animatedly in her father’s grasp, Lestrade struggling to keep his grip without dropping the phone, flashed before his eyes. He was almost touched that his name was what came to the child’s mind first. The detective couldn’t wait to inform his blogger. John was sure to have a mild huff about a kid liking Sherlock more than he. Finally! Something has occurred that the genius can hold over John’s head. He smiled, mischievous, mind filling with clever idea. Perhaps he could gain Emily’s assistance with pranking the older man, now that he was her favorite.

The youngster’s next question brought him back to the conversation. “Is he coming out with us today?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Why don’t you ask him?”

There was another muffled scuffle before a child’s voice hollered into the speaker, “Sherlock!” Said man cringed from the boisterous vocal sound. “Sherly,” came the drawn out, sing-sang, call.

“Yes, Emily?”

“Will you come and play with us today?” She didn’t allow him to reply before she launched into the events that were planned to occur that day. “I’m taking daddy to see ‘Despicable Me’ and I think you’ll like it too. You remind me of the mad scientist and Edith. Daddy is cool like Gru. I think daddy secretly has an underground 007 lab where he keeps all the neat toys that he uses to catch the bad guys. Do you think so too?” The child rambled on incessantly, Sherlock could barely keep up. He had never heard of this film, and the logic that Emily used to go from one thought to the next, caused his head to hurt. He most certainly was not a mad scientist! Lestrade, last time he checked, defiantly wasn’t a perfect, fictional character.

Emily was still prattling about the movie and how it related to reality when Greg cut in. “Princess, give the man a moment to answer,” he laughed. He was certain that Sherlock would decline the offer to join them, simply based on his daughter’s descriptions.

“Oh. Right. Well, Sherlock?” Would you come with us? We’re going for supper afterward,” the little one enticed.

“I’m not certain you would want a sociopath, even a high functioning one, like myself, accompanying you during a joyous occasion,” Sherlock informed the child with self-loath.

“Sosopatch or not, Sherly, today is a day for daddy,” Emily chastised. “We’ll pick you up soon, so you better be ready mister.” The child’s demand was followed with the afterthought, “and don’t forget his present!”

There was a ‘click’ from the other side, ending Sherlock’s confused inquiry, “present?” The panicked detective ran through halls of his mind palace, slinging doors open, searching franticly. ‘ _What do you get a father figure for their special day?_ ’

John came down the stairs, dressed in slacks and a nice shirt, wrapped box in hand. His eyes were grinning, whilst he whistled a merry tune. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, tensing in concern upon seeing Sherlock’s shocked and disbelieving expression. “Sherlock? What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

The dazed genius came back around with a gasp. He turned to meet his friend. “John!” he exclaimed, light bulb turning on. “John?” Said man’s brow furrowed, worried at seeing Sherlock out of sorts.

“Yes? What is it?”

“What do I get for Lestrade?” the young detective looked around the room, as if trying to find an item amidst the chaos of 221B.

“Greg? Is it his birthday?” voice flustered at the possibility of forgetting his friend’s date of birth.

“No.” The unspoken “you idiot” was heard loud and clear. John ignored the huff and following eye roll.

The blogger racked his brain, his lip quirked in amusement. The only conclusion John could find was that Sherlock must be referring to today. This holiday was his concern. Understanding crossed the Doctor’s features, his half smile full of sympathy for his friend’s predicament and lack of experience. “Greg will love whatever you give him, as long as it’s from the heart.”

“And how do you give from something you do not have,” Sherlock snarled.

“You have a heart, Sherlock,” John said, deadpanned. The blank tone concealed the sorrow he felt. Before John could continue, the ringtone of the detective’s mobile alerted them to an incoming call.

“It’s Lestrade,” Sherlock told John, staring at the cellphone’s screen.

The lanky, self-proclaimed sociopath debated within himself on whether or not to answer the irritating ring. _‘He is probably calling to refute the invitation. I already impose myself in his work, even if I am solving it for him. There is no reason that he would want to spend time with the ‘freak’, on his off hours; much less have his naïve daughter endure my presence or personality’_.

Sherlock hit the ‘accept’ button and brought the device to his ear. He cut off any pleasantry Lestrade was about to offer him, with, “There is no need to worry, Inspector; I understand your position on the matter.” His throat felt full and tight, hindering his respiration and his eyes burned a touch. He pushed back, what he could only assume was useless emotion, in denial that he felt anything at all. “I did not delude myself with thoughts of your daughter’s incessant ramblings holding any water. Therefore, there is no sense for an apology, as I was aware that the invitation was not real and, hence, suffered no hard feelings,” He finished the last word with contempt.

John frowned and came to stand in a protective stance near Sherlock, unsure as to why the DI would allow Emily to offer invitation, just to snatch it back. That didn’t seem like Greg at all. This was Sherlock though, and Emily did have the tendency to say things before she asked for permission… it wasn’t wrong for Lestrade to want to spend time alone with his daughter on Father’s Day. He barely got to see the child as is, and Sherlock was a clot on his best behaved days. However, this was clearly a sensitive topic for the emotionally inept man, and he had obviously had every intention to spend time with the one whom he considered a father.

“Sherlock, wait, that isn’t it at all,” John could barely hear Lestrade sputter into the phone. “Of course I would like for you to join us, you great git. Aren’t you always the one who tells all us incompetent idiots not to assume?”

“I didn’t assume, Inspector. The evidence-“

“What evidence?” Greg interrupted. “That I called you back? I didn’t want you to feel obligated to join us, Sherlock!” he negated Sherlock’s arguments, exasperated.

“Oh.” Brows knitted and lips pursed upon hearing hearty laughter.

When Greg’s composure returned, after a short pause, he asked, “Well, Sunshine, are you interested in joining in on the festivities, with Emily and I?”

“I do suppose… that it may be… interesting…,”he responded, his tone faux indifference. “If nothing else, I could use the time for experimenting with social activities.”

Beside him, John rolled his eyes, but maintained a stupid grin. He heard Lestrade repress a chuckle. “Then that’s settled. We’ll pick you up at 5 sharp, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded, even though he was aware the DI couldn’t see him, “Yes, yes, that sounds fine. I’ll be ready.” He sounded mildly shocked, unsure, yet impatient.

Before Sherlock managed to end the call, Lestrade’s voice sounded through once more. “Oh, and Sherlock? You don’t need to worry about a present, kiddo. Just spending time with you is enough.” With that the line went dead, leaving Sherlock unable protest.

~0o0~

Lestrade and little Emily arrived shortly after 5pm. They had been delayed by traffic and the DI was afraid that the detective may decide against going with them, out of spite of their tardiness. Due to Emily’s style of flourish both of them were dressed in the fanciest they could find in their closets. Greg was incredibly grateful that his daughter hadn’t seen his tuxedo. As they neared the door, the duo could hear John’s exasperated voice.

“Sherlock! Stop fidgeting. You look fine, Greg’s going to love the present, that little girl adores you, and Greg cares for you. Now, settle down before I tie you to your chair!” the ex-military man threatened.

Blonde ringlets danced as Emily looked up at him, grinning in glee. He chortled in return, giving her hair a pat before he reached to knock, loudly. There was a shuffle and the door yanked open, revealing an immaculate, save for the ‘deer in the headlight’ expression, Sherlock Holmes. John was in the background, dressed as normal. The doctor cleared his through, startling Sherlock back into gear. The detective motioned them inside the flat, as he scrambled about in search of his gift.

John sighed heavily and held out a brightly, wrapped box in each hand, “Sherlock.”

“What is it, John. I’m trying to find…” Papers flew about, landing scattered on the floor.

“Sherlock!”

“What, John?” His voice rose as he spun to meet his friend. Upon seeing what he was looking for he gave a wry grin and accepted each gift. He strode confidently back to their youngest guest and knelt before her. “This is for you,” Sherlock said, handing Emily the smallest box.

Emily looked in awe for a moment, before tearing into the paper. She beamed at the flower contained inside. “It’s BEAUTIFUL!” the child exclaimed in delight, pronouncing each individual syllable. Eyes wide she handed the box back to Sherlock and jutted her little fist out. The three men chuckled as Sherlock placed the lily corsage upon her wrist.

“A pretty girl should never be without a lovely flower on such an elegant occasion,” Sherlock explained, smiling sweetly at the child in front of him.

“It’s just Father’s Day, Sherlock,” chuckled Lestrade.

The genius fidgeted about at the reminder, and the subtle weight of the colorful box still in hand, became more noticeable. He stood before Lestrade, not quite meeting his eyes and held the gift out to his father-figure.

Greg accepted the present, frowning at the nervous disposition of a man usually so sure of himself. The older man fiddled with the wrapped box, turning it over in hand, giving it a slight shake close to his ear. The faint metallic sound at least gave him ideas. The gift had a solid weight, yet there were clearly signs of multiple things inside…

“Open it, daddy! I want to see what Sherly got you,” the young girl tugged at his arm to inspect the wrapping more closely.

Lestrade made quick work of ripping and tearing, being careful not to drop the rewarding contents. He was both shocked and confused, as well as filled with affection towards the younger man, upon seeing the box’s innards; Tucked carefully within lay his badge, his favorite cufflinks, and a white-gold, pocket watch. His brows furrowed, he looked toward the anxious detective, who was fiddling with the cuffs of his pressed, white shirt.

“Your badge and cufflinks now have a tracking device hidden on them. Safety measures, you understand, as being linked with me usually leads to danger. Just ask John, he’s been kidnapped more than once to get to me, and then there were the snipers, of course you’re already aware of that,” Sherlock rambled on, unaware of the fond smirks he was receiving. “The pocket watch is not new either. It originally belonged to my biological father; however, seeing as he is no longer in the picture, I thought you might find more use of it than I…”

Lestrade placed his badge in his pocket and attached the cufflinks, before he took out the circular piece of jewelry that kept time. He rubbed a thumb over the smooth surface and pushed a button that opened the cover. Placed inside was the small engraving: “Thank you.” Following the sentiment, below and off to the right, were the words, “with love, your sunshine.” Greg’s chocolate orbs misted with tears, knowing all too well, just how deep Sherlock’s gratitude went.

As a tear raced down a tan cheek, he felt a small hand grasp his own firmly. “What’s the matter, daddy? Why are you sad?” Before he could correct the child’s misunderstanding, Sherlock’s head shot up, quick enough that the officer was sure he would have some form of whiplash, piercing eyes taking in the scene. He was apprehensive, without a doubt.

Sherlock schooled his features back into a calm façade, though all but Emily could see straight through it. John bent down to the little girl’s height, “How would you like to help me pack some cookies Mrs. Hudson made, for you to take to your movie?” John’s request was met with an eager squeal, and the doctor was promptly dragged to the kitchen as Emily chattered happily.

The two’s departure allowed the father-figure and son a moment to communicate. Greg was ready to smooth away Sherlock’s misgivings, and Sherlock’s stature gave away his need to bolt. He took ahold of the younger man’s upper arm, to keep his feet firmly planted. “Sherlock, this was very thoughtful of you.”

Sherlock was relieved that the DI held him steady, as his knees were unstable trying to balance his weight. He scoffed at the surprise in Greg’s voice, “I’m not inconsiderate or ungrateful, despite what people say.”

“Now don’t get stroppy,” he scolded with a squeeze to the taut muscle enclosed in his hand. “You know good and well what I meant.” He wrapped the younger man in a tight hug. “Thank you, Sunshine; you are most welcome.” He took the lithe genius’s face in hand, meeting grey-blue eyes in an intense staring contest. Lestrade fixed him with a pointed look and continued, “It was my pleasure. It is my pleasure, and it will always be my pleasure. I will always be here for you. Even when you don’t want me, or think you don’t need me. Got it?”

Sherlock swallowed thickly, adams apple bobbing up and down. His gleaning gaze gleamed as the silence stretched on. The genius, outside of his comfort zone, nodded stiffly, his eyes floating to the floor. A pat on his shoulder brought him back to attention, as his personal bubble was restored. The joyous grin on his chosen father figure’s face turned his own lips upward.

Childish giggles wrenched them back to reality. Emily rushed to her papa, small arms hugging the man’s left leg. John came back in at a much more laidback pace, treat bags in hand. He assessed the other two gentlemen, confirming that all was well, and that Sherlock had been reassured. “Here we go,” he said, handing a bag to each individual. “Now you’re all set for the show.”

John grabbed his jacket and passed Sherlock his coat. “I must be off, I hope you all have a wonderful time.”

“Where ya headed to, John?”

“I’m meeting my parents and Harry for lunch.” John meandered closer to the door. Before he exited, he added as an afterthought, “Behave, Sherlock!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes with a grumble, as his two companions called out, “Enjoy, John” and “Have fun, Uncle John!”

~o0o~

Sherlock entered Chantilly’s behind Emily and Lestrade. Frills, flowers, and lace were everywhere. Shades of pink, purple, red, and yellow coated walls, tables, and floor. It was an explosion of everything girl; not what Sherlock had been expecting for Lestrade’s Father’s Day meal. His brow rose as the further they meandered in, following a hostess through rooms and walkways. Little girls with their families, female friends and coworkers, one birthday girl in a fuchsia dress surrounded by her female friends and one sulky little boy filled the seating. The only reprieve was that, as this was a fancy eatery, its noise level was low.

Emily ambled happily to their designated table and pulled out a chair for her dad, Greg helped her push him. She settled to his right, leaving Sherlock to place himself opposite of the two. Their youngest companion picked up her children’s menu and began to skim through her choices, head held high, serious expression.

Greg followed her example, reading out the options that sounded best. Sherlock continued to scan their surroundings, extremely out of his element. The DI pulled the menu down to observe the younger man. “Sherlock, you alright?”

Said man nodded with hesitation, briefly meeting Lestrade’s gaze. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“Do you already know what you want to eat?”

“I ate Monday, I’m fine.” At Lestrade’s pointed glare, Sherlock picked up the paper list of food and scanned it.

Their waitress arrived to take their drink orders, chocolate milk, coffee, and two waters. “Are you guys ready, or do you need more time?”

“Sweetie, do you know what you want?”

“Yep! I want the baked chicken tenders with chips, please”

“Okay, I would like the chicken and spinach quiche, with asparagus and a side salad. Sherlock?”

Hearing his name, the genius looked up and then back down to the menu, and right back up again. “I’ll take the chicken cordon bleu, with the….whatever comes with it.” He plucked the menus from Emily and Lestrade’s hands and handed them over to the waitress.

It was 15 minutes before the food arrived, and the trio chatted amicably. Emily would point out a customer, Lestrade would give them a story, and then Sherlock would deduce the truth. After the waitress left again, they continued as they ate, Sherlock only needing to be prodded once or twice to partake of his order. The meal went without a hitch, until Emily wanted Sherlock to deduce their attendant. Before Lestrade could insist that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to out all of her secrets, Sherlock listed ever observation he had made since they had entered the establishment with speed and humiliating accuracy.

“Age 32, but parading as 21, to date a younger man. In debt with school loans for a degree in which no one will hire her, due to barely adequate grades. Underneath the atrociously thick layer of makeup is a skin disease that she thinks is acne. Is desperate to be married and terrified that she’ll end up the crazy cat lady; which she is already off to a good start with 4 cats, 2 Siamese, 1 Tabby, and a Persian.”

Greg groaned when the last word was uttered and their server scurried off in tears. His hands came up to massage his temples. It wasn’t entirely Sherlock’s fault. None of the consulting detective’s deductions were ever pleasant, and he had only been following his daughter’s whim. It wouldn’t have even been that big of a deal, had Sherlock waited for the lady to depart from the table after refilling their beverages.

Sherlock’s eyes darted back and forth between Lestrade and where the girl had just vanished. His expression of innocent confusion morphed into hesitant contrition. “A bit not good?” he questioned. His frown deepened upon the DI’s heavy sigh.

“No, no. not really, but its fine.” Greg rose and trailed the fleeing waitress. He could feel Sherlock’s gaze follow his departure. Hopefully his kids’ antics didn’t get them kicked out, or worse, banned.

Emily pursed her lips in displeasure, “You weren’t very nice, Sherly.” She interrupted his indignant sputtering with, “You should go say you’re sorry. Then everything will be okay again.”

The detective was about to protest, it was after all for her benefit that he spoke up at all; however, he considered her simple, childish wisdom instead. He knew if John were here, he would be doing the same as Lestrade was doing now, apologizing in his stead. Though, unlike his police officer, John would have berated him for his words and or timing, as well as being a poor example for Emily.

With an agitated exhale, Sherlock swept the child up into his arms and marched after the inspector. For good measure, he left money on the table, enough for the meal and a hefty tip. If the woman didn’t accept his apology, she would at least be appreciative for the monetary compensation.

Sherock and Emily found Lestrade offering solace to the weeping woman, with a comforting hand rubbing circles on her shoulder, and quiet words. Upon their approach the two looked up. Greg’s expression questioned him ,while the female server’s glare bore her anger and odium right into his core.

The contrite detective bowed his head low, and his grip tightened on the girl in his arms, as if drawing his strength or courage from her. “Please accept my apology. I did not take into consideration how…hurtful, my observations might be.” His voice was soft, remorseful, yet his words were uttered in such a fashion that it spoke volumes of how painful Sherlock found this confession to be.

Greg looked upon him with fondness, and the fire dwindled a touch in the waitress’s eyes. Her shoulders slumped in resignation, glancing at Emily’s proud face. A small smile sprung to her lips, whether or not it was real, Sherlock didn’t know.

“It’s okay; none of it was untrue.” She hesitated a moment, “well, you weren’t quite right about the cats.”

Sherlock’s head shot up, an indignant “what?” on the tip of his tongue. Both Lestrade and the waitress smirked, while Emily screeched a high-pitched giggle. “What did I miss?”

“You were right, I am afraid of becoming the infamous ‘cat lady’, and there are currently, four kittens in my home, but they aren’t mine…”

His grey orbs scanned his target frantically, looking for the detail he missed or misread. He found it a moment later; he had taken the highest probable conclusion when he declared the felines were hers. However, there were other possibilities that would have had more merit, had Sherlock been able to glean all the information. “You’re caring for them, for a friend who is out of town,” he stated, matter of fact.

They left shortly thereafter, a clean slate for the night, but not before Emily insisted on dessert. The little one would not budge on the matter, even with being reminded of the treats they would have during the film, and hadn’t even been able to finish their actual meals. The compromise that had been squirreled out of the two adults would that they split two sweets, rather than three. Emily chose a hot fudge, brownie sundae, and Sherlock decided on a wild berry cobbler that he’d deduced Lestrade would favor. To the genius’s credit, he also pulled out enough bills to cover the puddings. Once the sweets had been polished off, they set off to the movies.

They had plenty of time before their featured film, so the trio took their time, walking to their destination, rather than hailing a cab. The hustle and bustle of London life rejuvenated Sherlock. When they got to the theatre, Sherlock stuffed the cookies into his large pockets and followed his companions through the ticket booth and then to the concession stand. Lestrade ordered three large sodas, and one large popcorn for them to share. Afterward they meandered to their section to ensure the best seating.

The lights darkened and the screen lit up. Sherlock sneered as the first thing to grace the display was a reminder to turn off all cell phones. Begrudgingly, he reached into his pocket and switched the device off. Surely he could survive an hour and a half children’s movie…Even his brain couldn’t rot that fast… The consulting detective groaned as the first previews started about a trapped singing princess. Even he was known to be wrong every once in a while.

The yellow blobs that spoke gibberish were the most loved of the entire movie, though Sherlock had yet to figure out why. They were mildly amusing. There had been some humorous parts, but most of it consisted of corny humor and what many considered slapstick or crude humor. The only thing that Sherlock was truly offended by was the sickingly predictable plot.

Even so, the stars shining in Emily’s eyes, and the persistent laughter of Lestrade melted something in him that made him carry on about how he liked it too. He was already deleting most of it, but he saved the parts that the two had reveled in most. Of course, the most memorable moments for him was when Emily had tugged at his coat for his attention, wanting to point out who she thought him most like:

_“You see, Sherly, there you are!” the little girl whispered to him, pointing out young Edith sticking her tongue out, and then proceeding to pout._

_Brows scrunched up, “How am I anything like that silly, little imp?”_

_“You sulk all the time, daddy and Uncle John are always talking about it. You say things that aren’t always nice, just for the sake of saying it too….even if it is the truth most of the time.”_

_Sherlock pointedly did not stop after that mini explanation and continued to watch the scene move on to Gru and his minions. He catalogued the personality, and reassured himself that he was nothing like the cartoon child. He also made a note to speak to John about he and Lestrade complained about in from the DI’s young charge._

_The second tug had led to an even more ridiculous comparison:_

_“There you are again, Sherlock!” Her whisper was much louder, filled with excitement._

_“Who?”_

_“Dr. Nefario! The evil scientist!”_

_“The preposterous, old man that is obviously not in his right mind, and can’t hear? How can you logically compare ME to HIM?”_

_The little girl rolled her eyes, “He’s a scientist and he’s always making stuff for Gru. Just like you do science stuff to help daddy!” She grinned proudly._

_Their loud debate was beginning to draw glares, and unwanted ‘sshs’. Lestrade elbowed him in his side to prevent him from responding. He brooded for the next few scenes, but he was glad Emily admired her dad so, and recognized his own contributions._

Their joy was contagious and even Sherlock was having a pleasurable time, one that he intended to store and save for the rest of his life. Tucked safely away in his mind palace, he would be able to revisit this time anytime he wished. He was rather sorry that the night was coming to an end.

            Greg decided to conclude the night with a walk in the park, a tradition that went back to his father, and grandfather. They walked side by side in silence, Emily swinging between them, each of her small hands encompassed by one of their larger, stronger ones. As they neared the pond, ducks going every which way, the celebrated man positioned himself on a bench, between his two young ones.

“I hope you had a happy Father’s Day, daddy,” the little girl smiled up at him, a small gap between her two front teeth.

“I most certainly did, princess. Thank you for today and thank you too, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded, somewhat uncomfortable.

“I love you, daddy!” the little one exclaimed.

The sparkle in his daughter’s eyes told him exactly what she was looking for. “I love you too, princess.”

His grin never wavered as he awaited the all too familiar response. “How much do you love me?”

Confused, Sherlock’s grayish blue gaze found his two companions and searched them, trying to figure out this new game.

“’Til the end of the stars” Sherlock rolled his eyes at the clichéd answer.

“How far is that, daddy?” The child shined with joy, gazing into her father’s eyes.

“Forever,” came back Lestrade, equally delighted.

“How much is that?

Sherlock was about to answer the child’s question with, ‘the stars go infinitely, which means that there is no limit.’ Logic and reason kicked in, however, with denial covering the hints of jealousy for their obviously sentimental game.

Lestrade’s arms spread out wide and his daughter launched herself at him. “This much,” he said, as he hugged the little girl.

“I love you that much too, daddy.” After a moment the child pulled back and gave her father a pointed look and then glanced Sherlock’s way.

The DI followed his daughter’s gaze and saw his detective looking quite uncomfortable. His posture held as if he was about to bolt, but was held captive by some unseen force; hesitant to stay, unsure of the emotional display…yet hesitant to leave, hopeful that the feelings were for him too, maybe?

“Sherlock,” Lestrade called softly, gaining the man’s full attention. “I love you too, sunshine.” The DI watched him with a knowing smile, observed the emotions flitter across the young man’s face. ‘ _Sociopath my foot_.’

“H-How much?” the detective asked, uncertain. A war waged inside him, between staying put and running off, before too much could be revealed. He wouldn’t be able to take it, if playing this game with him was some sort of joke to the father-figure.

“Until the end of the stars.”

Anxious grey eyes rose to meet understanding brown. “And how far is that?”

“Forever.”

“How much is forever?”

Lestrade once again opened his arms and waited patiently for the torn detective to make his choice, to either accept or reject his ‘father’s’ love. Shyly, unusually so for a man who is always so certain of himself, Sherlock leaned in and wrapped his arms around Lestrade, copying what he saw only a few minutes ago. Lestrade tightened his grip and whispered into the curly locks, “for eternity, Sunshine. I’ll love you for all eternity.”

They sat like that for another minute, until Lestrade thought his message was understood. The three spent the rest of the evening in comfortable silence, only being broken when Lestrade pointed out a star, or Sherlock would explain something about the constellations or planets.

So far, this had been the DI’s favorite Father’s Day.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story! Leave a comment and let me know what you though!


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